A Father's Love
by JeNnIcA-iS-tHe-BoMb
Summary: My Name is Jonathan Conlon the Third, and my Father has Never Hugged Me.


**Ellos… yea, be careful, this is a rather sad story, but Idk, I get random muse. Anyhoo, I don't own Bear, Muse, or the newsies, so don't freak out.**

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I sat on the back of the trolley with my friend, Tommy. Apparently my parents and his parents knew each other from some strike. But there are a lot of differences between Tommy and I. Tommy was a brown hair Italian, and I was a fair head Irish kid. His brown eyes were always welcome to new friends, while mine… the only people who can look me in the eyes without recoiling is my family. Mama says I got my father's eyes. But that's the major difference between Tommy and I. His father shows him love. Mine doesn't.

My name is Jonathan Conlon the Third, and my father has never hugged me, ever.

I never really bothered to care, about my father caring, but it always disturbed me how he never hugged anyone, not even Ma. Well, Ma would have to hug him first. "See ya Johnny," Tommy called out, getting off the trolley and running up the steps of the apartment complex in Manhattan. Sighing, I looked around, and noticed how many people were on. It was only me, and a couple other people. None of them would look at me. And I don't blame them. I got my father's eyes. There was one thing that caught my ears, and that was this,

"It's Spot Conlon's kid. I know those eyes anywhere." I have the same first and middle name as my pa, but he was never called that. He was called Spot. Anyone he knew, except for Ma, called him Spot. When he would stay up to late or hang around a bar to much she called him by his first name, but he never liked that. Sometimes, I would just stare at my father, and wonder if I was going to be like him when I was older. Have cold eyes, and have others fear me.

According to Mama, he was the most feared newsie in all of New York. She says that the time for newsies is slowly dying, since new delivery boys will deliver the newspapers to your house. But apparently she sold them too. That's why Pa always calls her Doll. At first I thought it was cause it was a pet name or somethin', but Aunt 'Muse' and a couple other of my 'aunts' and 'uncles' call each other weird names. Like Muse, Bear, and a bunch of other names. I never got it at all.

Everyone's always talkin' 'bout my Pa, and I never got why. He was always feared, which was what always made him never hug any of his kids I guess, but for me, it's different. Aishilinn's too young to understand, along with Marcus, they don't get that Pa will never hug us. Mama says he don't hug no one cause he's never been hugged himself. I don't find that a good excuse to not hug your kids. But I think that's why Mama's always huggin' Marcus and Aishy and I. She's huggin' us for Pa, because he can't hug us 'cause he don't know how. The trolley stopped at the edge of Brooklyn and I got off, walking towards the apartment my family all shared. Some people would automatically step out of my way, thinking I was my father, and the way my eyes were ablaze.

I was angry at my dad, angry as to why he never cared to show he loved us. Climbing up the stairs, I peeked out and saw someone at the door of my house. It was someone who looked like an older version of my dad. When he walked in, I snuck in, and I saw that Ma had seen me, sending me a look saying to go to my room. After a couple minutes Ma walked in, shutting the door and locking it, keeping her ear pressed to the door. I joined her, and we listened in. We could hear lots of talking, and then a loud BAM! And the door slamming. Ma opened the door, motioning for me to stay.

Never in my life had I seen my Pa look so… distraught. Mama was hugging him and talking quietly, that's when I realized it all. Pa liked us; he just didn't know how to show it. He was a young father, younger than most at twenty two, along with Mama who was only a year younger. They were young, and they had a lot to take care of. I coughed, and my Mama looked over at me, she nodded her head and kissed Pa on the cheek, and she came over and hugged me, extra tight, saying "that man was your grandpa, if you see him, don't be afraid to fight against him. Your five, but you are your father's kid," she kissed my cheek, whispering, "That's why you get in fights at school."

Walking back to the room I shared with Marcus and Aishy, I thought about what she said. I guessed it was true, I was a good fighter for a five year old, pretty grown up too. In class I was always the one who was defiant. Mama says it's cause I was born when they were young. That, and Pa grew up way to fast. I don't think my parents worry too much about my siblings and I, cause they know that we'll make it through life, that we won't have to worry. Cause while other boys learn baseball from their dads, mine taught me how to shoot a slingshot. While girls learned how to bake from their mama's, Aishy was learning different fight combos, ones that would keep her safe. But there was still one thing my siblings and I were missing in our childhood.

A father's love.

That's why we're growing up fast, it's why we're asking the questions now, instead of waiting until we're older to question things. We've only known what our Mama thinks, not our Pa. I wanna know what my Pa thinks 'bout stuff, but he don't tell no one but Mama. If Pa actually took the time to tell us he was proud of us, we wouldn't be growin' up so fast. Cause I wanna be a kid, but if Pa ain't gonna show it, fine. Who needs a father's love anyway?

Climbing into bed, I covered my head, so as if anyone ever woke up and saw me, they wouldn't know I was crying. Because deep down, I know I wanted my dad to be proud of me, I wanted it so bad, that it hurt. Mama walked in, and she lifted the blanket gently, sitting next to me and pulling me into a hug, whispering so my siblings wouldn't hear, "He loves you, he just doesn't know how to show it." Kissing my forehead, she got up and close the door gently. Hearing it from Ma was something, but it wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be enough.

Not until I knew for sure. My name is Jonathan Conlon the Third, my father never hugged me, and for a five year old I have never felt as tough, cold, and adult as I do now, and probably ever will, for a very, very, long time in my life.

**Reviews are lovely, and for all of you, Tommy's Racetrack's kid =) **

**Keep Carryin' the Banner,**

**JeNnIcA-iS-tHe-BoMb!**


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